


Being Supportive

by katedf



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 03:26:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6498961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katedf/pseuds/katedf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richard and Camille talk about his attempts to be supportive when her friend is murdered.<br/>Alternate ending to ep 2.5, starting with the arrest of the murderer. Originally written as part of Wrong Turns, but I decided to post it on its own.<br/>Spoiler alert! Killer's identity is mentioned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Being Supportive

Camille watched Fidel lead Grant off the party boat. She sat down to catch her breath. It was really over. Aimee’s killer was in custody. She looked up at Richard, and realized he’d been watching her. She managed a little smile, trying to show him she was feeling better. Trying to say thank you. He answered her smile with an almost imperceptible nod and smile. She hoped that meant he knew how grateful she was.

Camille watched Richard walk off the boat. She almost asked him to wait, but she realized they weren’t alone. She rose and turned to Eloise.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “For before. I…”

“I understand,” Eloise replied. “Grant did a good job of making it look like I’d killed Aimee. I’m glad you got him.”

“Please thank the Inspector for us,” said Stephen. “If he hadn’t figured out Grant was smuggling, it might have been discovered on another island and I would have been blamed.”

Eloise shook her head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe we had someone like that working with us. Someone capable of doing so many terrible things.”

Stephen walked to Eloise and put his arm around her and gave her a light squeeze. Camille noticed the gesture and thought how much easier it was to go through a difficult time when there was someone to be supportive. 

Supportive. Richard had tried so hard to be supportive and she’d rebuffed him. Feeling guilty, she said goodbye to the Morrisons and left the boat.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard stood in the small amount of shade provided by a palm tree and stared out at the water. He’d watched Camille watch Fidel take Grant into custody. He hoped it would mean she could start to heal. He wished there was something more he could do. At least she’d relaxed a little when it was over. He felt some relief at that. 

He shook his head. His attempts at consoling Camille had been pathetic. The dog story… what had he been thinking? He never knew the right thing to say. As a detective, he’d said “I’m sorry for your loss” so many times that it meant very little by now. And he’d been unable to come up with anything better to say to Camille. He recalled his stumbling attempt on the beach. He’d sounded like an idiot. Why could he never say the right thing to her?

At least he’d done the one thing he knew how to do. He’d caught Aimee’s killer. When Camille smiled at him just now, he’d understood that she was trying to thank him. She seemed to understand his little “you’re welcome” nod. Once in a while, they’d have these moments when words weren’t needed, when it seemed that they were so in sync. Then one of them (usually him) would say something that annoyed the other (usually her) and the moment would be lost. 

So what should he do now? Camille would feel relief that Aimee’s killer was in jail. Maybe a little satisfaction for being allowed to cuff Grant—a bit roughly, Richard remembered with a smile. But healing would take time. Richard wanted to be there for her, to be supportive. 

Richard turned to look toward the town. The market was still going on. Wasn’t there a flower vendor? Perhaps flowers?

-o-o-o-o-

Camille stepped off the boat and looked for Richard. She saw him standing in a small patch of shade, looking at the sea. He started toward town, and she called out for him to wait.

“Thank you,” she said when she caught up to him. “I don’t…there should be more…you’re right. It is hard to be eloquent when emotions are so strong. There should be something more that I can say. More than just thank you. Nothing will bring Aimee back, but you brought her justice, and that’s special.”

Richard shrugged and was about to say, “Just doing my job.” But it was more than simply his duty as a police officer. It was a service, a kindness, he owed a friend. 

“Sometimes there aren’t words for how you feel,” he finally replied. “But I’m glad we caught him. Are you feeling a bit better?”

“Yes, I think so.”

They walked toward the town. When they came to the turning for Camille’s street, Richard noticed that Camille continued to walk toward the station. He stopped walking and said, “Go home, Camille. Call it a day.”

Camille raised an eyebrow and said, “You don’t want me in the station while Grant is there, do you?”

“I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to be anywhere near him. Not good for your, um, emotional wellbeing.” Richard smiled and added, “And potentially very bad for his physical wellbeing.”

Instead of making the sort of sassy retort she normally did, Camille sighed and said, “I guess.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel, I don’t know… sort of let down. Like I ought to be _doing_ something, but there isn’t anything left to do.”

“No, there isn’t. So go home. Relax. Just sit and breathe. Get a good night’s sleep. I suspect you haven’t been sleeping well.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I look terrible.”

“No you don’t. That isn’t what I meant. I can see it in your posture and hear it in your voice.” Richard had never seen Camille look so fragile. He tried to think of something to say. This was probably the time for the hand squeeze thing, but that hadn’t gone very well when he’d tried it the other day. Camille saved him by speaking.

“I don’t feel like _me_. I just… I don’t feel like being alone. Walk me home? Please?”

Richard glanced toward the station. Dwayne stood on the porch looking down on them. He gave Richard a thumbs-up gesture and pointed toward Camille’s house. 

“Of course,” Richard replied, and they turned toward Camille’s house. They had walked for about a minute when Richard’s phone buzzed. He stopped to look at the text from Dwayne. It said, _Prp in cell. Paprwk done. Go take care of C._

“What is it?” Camille asked.

“I believe I’ve just been given the rest of the day off.” When Camille looked at him quizzically, he added, “Dwayne says the paperwork is done. So there truly is nothing left to do.

As they walked to her door, Camille said, “Then stay and have a beer?”

They sat in companionable silence on Camille’s shaded patio. A light breeze rustled the leaves and somewhere in the distance birds were calling. Richard watched Camille lean her head back and close her eyes. 

“Perhaps a nap would be a good idea,” he said.

She shook her head. “Then I won’t sleep tonight. And that’s the worst, lying awake in the dark.”

“I know what you mean. But you should sleep better tonight.” 

“Not until I…” she swallowed and looked down. Then she took a deep breath, raised her eyes to his and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Camille, if you’re going to start up again about not being much help—”

“No. Not that. I need to apologize for snapping at you. On the boat, right after… Aimee… when you told me to sit down and have a glass of water. I know you were trying to be kind, trying to take care of me. For any other friend or family member, it would have been the right thing to do. You wanted to do what was good for me. But I was so busy trying to do what was right for Aimee that I got angry at you.”

“I suppose _ordering_ you to sit down was the wrong thing to do. But you were going on adrenaline, trying to do everything at once. That kind of reaction is usually followed by a crash. I was trying to keep that from happening. And there was also the risk to the crime scene. Although you appeared to be functioning correctly, in your agitated state you might have made a procedural error.”

“I did. I picked up the wrong shot glass.”

“That’s because Grant was so quick about replacing it. Just think how much time he’d have had to dispose of the real glass if you hadn’t been there. You did well, Camille. You controlled the scene, kept everyone there. I doubt I’d have been able to function as well if y—if someone I cared for had been murdered right in front of me.”

“I got angry because I thought you weren’t going to let me work the case.”

“If ordering you to sit down didn’t work, I can’t imagine the explosion if I’d made you stay out of the case.” Richard was pleased when this comment earned a small smile. “Mind you, if this had happened in London, that is exactly what would have happened. But we’re a small force and I needed all the help I could get, especially with the Commissioner so fixated on that bootlegging case. I had to send Dwayne and Fidel on that. If I hadn’t had you, I’d have been on my own.”

Richard paused, thinking about the many ways that last statement could be taken. He never used to mind doing things on his own. 

“And I honestly do understand your need to be a part of the investigation,” he continued. “Against the rules or not, it was what you needed. If the Commissioner had questioned it, I could easily have defended keeping you on the case. You were helpful, apart from trying to arrest Eloise Morrison on too little evidence.”

“I apologized to her today. She was gracious. I think they were so shaken by Grant’s actions that a false accusation paled in comparison. And while I’m apologizing… I’m sorry for the other day in the car. I know you were trying to show that you understood how I felt and I shouldn’t have said those things, especially that you have no friends. Because you know—””

“Don’t say that you and Fidel and Dwayne are my friends. It will become sentimental, mawkish, even—”

“What’s wrong with a little sentiment? We _are_ your friends!” Camille reached out to rest her hand on Richard’s where it lay on the table. “Friends take care of each other, and that’s what we do. We’re supportive—don’t roll your eyes, Richard. It’s a good word. You did try to be supportive and caring.”

“I wasn’t very good at it.” Richard shook his head sadly.

“Don’t say that! I think you’re fantastic. You put up with so much these past few days. I was angry at the killer and I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have lost my temper over the dog story, even if it was kind of an odd choice. Why did you tell me that story?”

“I don’t know. It just came to mind.”

Camille sensed that there was more to the dog story than he was willing to share. But rather than press the issue, she asked Richard if he wanted another beer.

“No thanks. I probably should go home and let you rest. And you should eat something. You probably haven’t been eating properly.”

“No, I haven’t. Maman kept bringing me food, but I wasn’t hungry. I’ve got enough food in the fridge to feed half of Saint Marie. I suppose I should…” Camille did a quick mental inventory of the various dishes her mother had brought. Then she said, “Stay for supper.”

“Oh, um, I don’t know…”

“Please? It’s been so nice to have company. I’m sure there’s something not too spicy.”

-o-o-o-o-

Richard watched as Camille pulled a selection of foil-covered containers from her fridge. She described the contents of each dish and handed Richard a fork.

“Go ahead and taste. See what you’d like.”

“Out of the container? That isn’t very hygienic.”

“Oh, go on. It’s just a taste.”

While Richard investigated the food, Camille got out plates and serving spoons, one spoon for each container to stave off a lecture on the evils of cross-contamination. They filled their plates and returned to the patio to eat.

“This is delicious!” said Richard, pointing to a pasta dish.

“It’s one of my favorite comfort foods,” Camille replied. “Maman used to make it…”

Richard looked up and saw that Camille was getting teary.

“Sorry,” she said. “Maman used to make this for Aimee and me. We were, hmm, I’d guess fourteen, and had decided to become vegetarians. I don’t remember why. An adolescent whim, I suppose. So Maman figured out lots of ways to do pasta and veg and cheese. She probably sneaked in some tofu when we weren’t looking.”

Richard smiled ruefully. “Adolescent whims were not indulged at boarding school, I’m afraid. If someone chose to be vegetarian, the answer would have been ‘so eat your veg’ and that would have been the end of the discussion. How long did this whim last?”

“A month or two. Then one day Maman was grilling shrimp. It smelled so good! So I thought I’d cheat a bit and have just one. Ha! Soon I had a plateful in front of me.” Camille jumped up, “I forgot the shrimp! I have some in the fridge. Hang on!”

Camille returned with a plate containing large grilled shrimp. She grinned and said, “No eyes, try it!”

Richard took a tiny bite and Camille rolled her eyes. “You can’t taste it from so little. Eat a big bite!”

She speared half a shrimp on her fork and stuck it in Richard’s mouth before he could object. The look of astonishment on his face made her smile.

“Told you it’s good. Maman doesn’t do shrimp this way often, only when she’s doing brochette. It has to be peeled and marinated, which takes time. But the reward is that the marinade browns the shrimp.”

“Caramelization. There must be some sugar in the marinade.”

“Honey, actually.” 

Richard took another bite of shrimp. “Mmmm,” he mumbled before swallowing. “Sorry to talk with my mouth full. But this is wonderful. When the sugar gets hot on the grill, it browns and then burns. If you catch it at the brown point, it makes a great flavor.”

Camille nibbled on her supper while she listened to Richard deliver a lecture on the chemistry of cooking. She hadn’t felt this good since before Aimee died. And looking at the animated expression on Richard’s face, she realized that he probably hadn’t felt this good in a while, either. He always obsessed and fussed when they had a case. But this time had been more than that. She was startled to realize that Richard had been worried about her! She thought back to his halting words on the beach. He’d said “how you feel—felt—about someone.” The shift in tense was a giveaway. Did he even realize what he’d said? She hadn’t noticed it until now. Oh yes, they were friends, no matter what he said. And she had a feeling they could be more. But for now, she was content to have his company, even if it came with chemistry lectures.

-o-o-o-o-

Richard insisted on helping with the washing up. He coaxed Camille to tell stories about Aimee. He asked for funny ones, and Camille had lots of those.

“So how did you meet?”

“We were eight. We sat next to each other at school and—oh! There’s a nun in the story, is that okay?”

Richard smiled, pleased to see a bit of the cheeky Camille returning. “I think I can survive that.”

“Well, Sister Mary Joseph had a limp. I don’t know why I was fascinated by it, but I was. So the first day, at recess I asked Aimee what she thought could have caused it. We started thinking up possibilities, and that started a friendship.”

“What sort of possibilities does an eight-year-old come up with?”

“Oh, let me think,” said Camille as she led Richard to the living room. She curled up on the sofa and he sat in an armchair. “Obvious things, like a car crash or a bicycle accident. Polio—which turned out to be the truth. Some of the more fanciful ideas were a broken leg sustained during a bad skydiving landing, surfing accident, or mountain climbing. Shark attack, lion attack while on a safari, knife fight. I’m sure there were others, but that’s the general idea.”

“Good Lord, you had quite an imagination.”

“I think it was a sort of synergy. Either one of us on our own wasn’t half as imaginative as the two of us together.”

“I never thought I’d feel sorry for a nun, but poor Sister Mary Joseph!”

“Oh, no, we were good in class. The worst was a little daydreaming. And she was actually quite nice.”

“Did you make up backstories for all of your teachers?”

“No, just the ones that sparked our curiousity.”

“And people you meet? Do you still do that?”

“I know the backstories of my friends. Except you. You haven’t shared much about yourself. I know that you went to boarding school and weren’t happy. You were bullied and a nun was mean to you. You never talk about your friends from school or from your station in London.”

“That’s because you were right the other day. I don’t have friends. You and Aimee became friends when you were eight. When I was eight, I was a scholarship kid in the midst of rich kids. I didn’t fit in. I took refuge in books and my classwork. I learned to be content on my own. I had friends at home before I went away to school, but when I came home, my best friend had moved away and the other kids had found other friends and different interests. So I didn’t fit in there, either.”

“And you quit trying.” Camille looked at Richard. He nodded, but seemed to be far away. She rearranged the pillows on the sofa and stretched out. “And the dog? That wasn’t some random story. He was important to you, wasn’t he?”

“He was my friend. I spent some of my school holidays with my grandparents. They were kind, but they weren’t much companionship for a kid. The dog and I became inseparable. I’d throw a ball for him to fetch and we’d run around together. He was allowed to sleep in my room, but not on the bed. I think Gran knew I let him up on the bed, but she never said anything about it. I’d talk to him, tell him things I couldn’t tell a person. He would look at me with those big brown eyes, and I felt like things would be all right. And when he died, I lost my best friend.”

“Unconditional love,” murmured Camille sleepily.

“Yeah. I thought about getting a dog from time to time. But it isn’t fair, what with working all day. A cat is easier, but I don’t care for cats. Everything has to be on their terms, non-negotiable. So now I have a lizard. I have a lizard for a friend. How pathetic…” Richard glanced at Camille. She was asleep. 

Richard turned off all but one lamp. He saw a lightweight throw on the sofa and gently placed it over her. She mumbled something—possibly his name—and sighed. He turned to walk away, then turned back. He leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her cheek. He whispered “goodnight” and left.

As he walked home, Richard thought about their friendship. Yes, they were friends and they were becoming more supportive of each other all the time. Camille was his best friend. And maybe someday, if Erzulie was kind enough to help him be brave, he might tell her that.


End file.
